


The Grinch Who Gave Back Christmas

by koffkoffstyles (blametheone)



Series: Koff Koff's Christmas Countdown [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner writes a book about the Hulk its pretty great, Christmas Special, M/M, Steve is my spirit animal, Tony Stark is a certified Grinch, Two Part Special, also technically coffee shop AU, but pretty much, he is also an elf, not actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blametheone/pseuds/koffkoffstyles
Summary: Tony is an official Grinch who is totally sick of Christmas and its capitalistic concept, Bruce is an anxious little bean who believes in the magic of Christmas and its ability to bring family back together.Or, Tony owns a publishing company, and Bruce wants to publish his book.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [so, i’ve had a christmas-themed one direction story for 3 years now that is still unfinished. i was determined to post it this year, but after what happened with johannah recently i physically can’t bring myself to. i burst into tears just bringing the document up. SO, rather than bother with that, i’ve condensed the idea and transformed it to this fic, in an entirely different fandom, to avoid the heartache.]
> 
> [okay now that i've started writing this i take the above back: this plot totally happened on the fly. also i know nothing about publishing companies this is all made up on the spot i’m really sorry.]

**[my dog is snoring]**

 

\---

 

“You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch,” Steve grinned from the doorway, a bright red, white-lined hat slipping over his forehead. His hand rose quickly to readjust it, white pom-pom flopping from one side of his head to the other.

Tony sat back at his desk and sneered.

“This is relevant why?”

It was so relevant, but Steve was – not too _nice_ to talk about what just happened, more too high and righteous and good-willed to talk about what just happened. He thought he was sparing Tony. Sparing Tony would have been to not follow him in here. Steve was a (relatively) nice guy (at least most of the time), and even though they had their differences, Tony respected him. That was the sole reason Steve hadn’t been fired for his abrupt and, frankly, arrogant attitude towards Tony. Because while most other executive editors/CEOs of publishing companies would fire Steve for how naturally he shot Tony down, Tony respected his balls to do so.

Besides, most executive editors/CEOs of publishing companies would not have a raging meltdown in the middle of their top-level floor and rip the Christmas decorations off of one of the workers’ desk.

Tony was not like the others.

Steve smirked at him still, arms crossed, and raised his chin. Curse that kid. It was days like these that Tony regretted hiring him as a personal assistant. At the time, Tony had quite liked the ninety-year-old-man attitude about Steve, the way he held himself like a gentlemen and used all his please-s and thank you-s in all the right places, all the gall and old-fashioned traditionalism in a twenty-something-year-old body. Now it kind of pissed him off a little when Steve was more mature than him. Tony was twenty years older than his assistant, and most of the time he felt like a teenager caught with weed under his bed.

“In my professional opinion, Mister Grinch,” Tony couldn’t not roll his eyes at Steve’s idea of professionalism, “While the company does not necessarily _endorse_ Christmas as a denominational holiday in the name of all-inclusive staff, that rule in itself means we also can’t _exclude_ it. And Ms Lewis spent a long time getting that tinsel hung perfectly around the other decorations.”

“That’s your professional opinion?”

“I kept it mostly professional,” Steve pointed out with a shrug and a nod of his Santa hat. Tony rolled his eyes – again – and pointed next to Steve, into the empty part of the doorway.

“Please leave.”

Steve grinned, flashing Tony a good view of his pearly whites, and left the office with a salute.

“Lighten up, Tony. Enjoy the holidays!”

He closed the door behind him, knowing his boss would prefer that right now, and Tony rolled his eyes, put his head down, and got back to work. A publishing company wasn’t going to run itself, not even by ‘the magic of Christmas’ or Darcy’s tinsel. He had work to do, and some jolly fat guy was not going to stand in the way of that.

 

Tony didn’t notice how late it was until Steve popped his head in to say he was going home. Tony even went so far as to open his mouth to tell Steve off for leaving early, about to tell him that his boyfriend could wait for him to actually finish work – when he realised it was two hours later than Steve’s official time to leave.

Rather, he waved Steve off and wished him a safe trip home. Only, the blonde didn’t leave the doorway. Tony went back to his paper, shuffling a couple around on the desk trying to get back on board with the train of thought he had chugging along before Steve popped in, only for a pair of hands to reach over and cover the papers.

Tony looked up in surprise, not knowing whether to be shocked or not that his assistant was yet to leave. He didn’t even know if he missed Pepper or not, at this point. He couldn’t get his thoughts straight enough to remember if Pepper used to do this as well, or if it was just Steve and Tony was remembering wrong.

It was annoying either way. The voice in the back of his mind reminding him that they’re right to stop him is pretty annoying to.

“Go home, Tony,” Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m coming in early tomorrow, I can get this sorted for you.”

“Um,” Tony tilted his head. “I’m not entirely sure if you remember this but, _I’m_ the Stark of Stark publishing. You’re my Steve. _I’m_ meant to be doing this, not you.”

Steve just rolled his eyes and pulled Tony’s coat off the seat that was by the door, snickering.

“You realise I do all of the signing, organizing, deals and big important conversations that you’re also meant to do, right?” he reminded his boss, putting the coat down on the desk. “And I’m the one that gets handed things.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s actually an anxious thing, beefcake, it has nothing to do with running the company.”

“Okay,” Steve laughed properly, “You only call me ‘beefcake’ when you’re super stressed or really tired, if you don’t go home now, I’m going to have to personally escort you home myself.”

“That _is_ what ‘personally’ means.”

“Tony.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend at home to annoy?” Tony sighed dramatically, but he stood up nonetheless. Steve Rogers was nothing if not stubborn, and would actually pick Tony up over his shoulders if he had to.

“He’s in Romania. Lucky you, right, I can stay at the office as long as I want to bug you.”

Tony grimaced. “Yay.”

Tony had packed up his things, letting Steve lock the doors, and they made their way down the stairs (they both had a problem with elevators, and also, elevators had a problem with them, apparently) and to the foyer of the building. Steve was shrugging on his coat and walking away from Tony when he spoke next.

“I can trust that you’ll actually go home now, Mister Stark?” he jeered, moving towards the doors anyway. Tony rolled his eyes.

“I won’t go back up to my office,” he promised, pulling a face and drawing an ‘x’ over his heart. “Swear.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, Tony!” he called as he slipped out the revolving doors, huddling into his coat. It was snowing, not yet, but it was cold outside.

Tony sighed into his hands. Then groaned into his hands. Then screamed into his hands.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Tony sighed again, bringing his hands away from his face and lifting his head up. Jarvis, the head of security and one of Howard Stark’s old friends, was apparently on the door tonight.

Tony was not alright, not at all, not in the slightest. His long term best friend turned girlfriend had left his sorry ass two months ago and flown to the other side of the country to run her company from there, Tony had _not_ been seeing his therapist (fuck that guy, always asking questions, he didn’t even care, he just wanted the money, Tony had been dealing with himself for a long time, he could go a lot longer), Tony had _not_ been taking his anxiety or sleep medication (because he has to go to the therapist for a referral, then the doctor for a prescription, and they’ll both be like ‘why haven’t you done this sooner’ and he’ll have to say ‘because I ran out two days after Pepper left and haven’t been bothered since because she always did it’ and no thank you) and Tony had been ordered to go home by his assistant, even though he knows he won’t sleep for another twelve hours, and now Tony will just feel guilty if he goes back up to work.

And, honestly, Tony’s fucking lonely. He doesn’t want to wander around the streets like a loser, and he absolutely does not want to go back home to an empty house. He wants someone to talk to, to laugh at, with, whatever. Someone to remind him to take his meds, to go talk to his therapist, or better yet, someone he can talk to instead of his therapist that will make him feel better just by them telling him how their day was or something stupid. He remembers what that was like, with Pepper, but they hadn’t been like that since the day they decided to be a couple.

Tony was just completely messed up, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Jarvis was one of his oldest, closest friends; Tony always had to take a step back, mentally, and remember that Jarvis was, in fact, a friend and co-worker, not a family member. Jarvis started working for his dad in his twenties, when Tony was just ten years old. He hasn’t left Tony’s side since.

So, Tony probably should have told him any of these problems, even just one. Realistically, he knew if he started talking then it would all come out anyway and Jarvis would probably help him through at least some of it, maybe invite Tony to hang out with him for a little while. He’d probably call Steve, actually, and tell him to book all the appointments. He’d probably make Tony a cup of tea like he always did when an adolescent Stark was struggling with anything from math homework to sexuality. Tony _should_ have said something, but instead what came out was:

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jarvis absolutely did not believe it, Tony could see it in his face. But he nodded anyway, and gestured to the door.

“I called for Happy to drive you home when I heard you and Mister Rogers come down the stairs,” he smiled. “He should be there now.”

Tony frowned. His car was at the building. “I can’t drive myself?”

Jarvis snickered. “Not in your condition, sir.”

Well, okay then. He didn’t have to say anything, Jarvis already knew half of it, probably.

Now Tony just wanted a cup of tea.

“Thanks, Jarvis,” he shrugged on his coat, making his way to the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Mister Stark.”

Tony sometimes wondered if that weirded Jarvis out, calling him ‘Mr. Stark’ when he had also called Howard ‘Mr. Stark’. Hm.

Just as Jarvis had said, there was a car parked out the front of the building, waiting for him. Tony stepped in, slumped into the seat for a moment and rubbed at his face again. He needed to shave, he could feel himself getting stubbly where he didn’t like to be stubbly. He was very particular and immaculate about when and where his facial hair was and was not allowed to grow.

He barely even said hello to Happy, instead he asked to be driven to a coffee shop, just off Main Street, and decided he was going to get himself a cup of tea.

 

Fuck coffee shops.

To the deepest, darkest depths of hell, fuck coffee shops.

Okay, that was way too far. Tony usually liked, maybe even loved, coffee shops very much, particularly this one. It was his favourite, always the right amount of everything, always lovely staff and even when the staff aren’t lovely Tony can sympathise with them for why.

It’s just that he forgot what time of year it was, forgot that it was December, and forgot that everything was going to be Christmas themed.

Tony hated Christmas, he did. Wished that what began as a Christian-Pagan merge of celebration had not become the soul-sucking consumer-driven capitalistic nightmare that it was today. It was nothing to do with his own experiences of Christmas as a child (which were minimal at best, anyway) it was the fact that Christmas is overdone, done to death. Every single year it’s the same repetitive cycle: everyone stressing out and bustling around and blowing their budgets for people they only ever see once a year, maybe not even; gaudy lights everywhere; screaming kids and God forbid if you accidentally let slip about Santa not being real in front of the eight thousand four year olds all crowded around you. Like, oh no, I’m sorry I ruined the lie you’ve been feeding your kid about some obese paedophile that ‘crawls down the chimney’ and ‘leaves presents’; and the same damn nativity story every single year – and then it’s over. Done. Dusted. Forgotten.

Pointless. That’s how Tony saw Christmas: pointless. At least the whole Western world going gaga over it was pointless. Having a nice church ceremony, a mass for Christ? Sure, whatever, have fun, knock yourself out, go celebrate his birthday. But _everyone_? The whole American population, plus other Western countries who do the same big blowout? That was pointless.

No one even stops to think about all the food that could be going to places where Christmas doesn’t even exist, all the money spent on presents for family members you don’t even like that could go to charities and sick children and African countries.

No one even stops to think about homeless people who don’t get Christmas presents, or sad and lonely people who don’t have family. No one stops to think about the increased suicide rate this time of year or anything of that calibre, because they don’t want facts and shadows to spoil their Christmas spirit.

And now, sitting inside a coffee shop, drinking a simple mug of tea, Happy on the table behind him with a cup of Christmas-themed cinnamon and white chocolate mocha, every single decoration some form of green, red, snowflake or tinsel: Tony almost wanted to contribute to the suicide rate.

So what if he was a Grinch? Christmas was a joke and Tony wasn’t afraid to laugh at it.

“Hey, you’re Tony Stark!”

The voice snapped Tony out of his thoughts and oh sweet baby Jesus in a manger he did not want to deal with this right now. He suddenly took back everything he said to Steve about he manages what, he would give anything for Steve to be here right now to deal with this person instead of him. He was absolutely not in the mood to deal with some hot-shot that thought he was top-shit because his stuff got through Stark Publishing, and now he wanted to personally thank the CEO because apparently the CEO had something to do with a comic book or romantic novella or sci-fi thriller that Tony had never even known about. He has a company to run, he has workers to do the publishing for him. That’s why it’s a _company_.

Tony pushed his lips together tightly. “Listen, I don’t have time for any thank you-s, so-”

“No, I didn’t want to thank you,” the hugged his laptop bag closer to his chest, but not in an insecure way, more like he’d be crossing his arms right now if the bag wasn’t in the way. Tony looked up at him, took in the dark curls and darker eyes, and brief twinge of a smile, the purple shirt that didn’t look as obnoxious as it should have, all the stupid little details he found himself caring about far too often. Like how he knows Steve has two freckles right on his smile line, and how the bottom eyelid of Natasha’s left eye is angled slightly higher than the right. He had an eye for detail. Memorising the pattern of this man’s five-o-clock shadow had nothing to do with the man himself, because for once, Tony was too tired and frustrated to even realise how attractive he was.

“It’s just nice to finally meet the head honcho of the company who keeps denying my publication.”

Oh _God._ Tony could have screamed right then and there in the middle of the coffee shop, he really could have.

“Listen, okay,” he began, throwing all caution about this man’s feelings to the wind, “If your publication has been knocked back, it means it sucks, to the point that not even an editor can fix it up. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it works. Now if you’ll excuse me-” he stood, motioning to Happy to get up also, and made for the door, “-I hope you still have a very merry Christmas, okay?”

“My publication has not been knocked back because it’s bad, Mister Stark,” Mr. Purple Shirt called after him. “It’s been sent to ten different publishing companies for reviews, and all of them say it’s wonderful, except yours. Yours just send it back, say ‘it’s not our thing’ and give no reason as to why you wouldn’t publish it.”

Tony sighed at his shoes, hand on the ‘push’ sign. He paused, and looked up at the guy.

“Look, I’m the Chief Executive at Stark Publishing,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what your publication is, what it’s called or who keeps sending it back, but to be honest? I don’t care. I have a company to run. Go get it send through Coulson and Hill, they’d love that shit.”

Just as he pushed through the door, Happy close on his heels, he could hear the guy call out.

“My name is Bruce Banner, and the publication is called ‘Hulk’!”

“I don’t care!” Tony called back, pushing a hand through his hair and realising with disappointment that he hadn’t even finished his cup of tea.

 

Tony hated to admit it, but even though he ‘didn’t care’, he couldn’t stop thinking about Bruce Banner and his publication.

Because it didn’t make sense. Yes, Stark Publishing was picky, but for a guy to send the same manuscript to ten companies? And they all say it’s great? And Stark doesn’t?

Several things weren’t adding up in Tony’s head. The first one that Bruce had apparently tried to get his work through Stark multiple times even though nine other companies would probably love to have him, but that he was only going through Stark.

The second was that Bruce apparently had a ‘wonderful’ manuscript, but someone in Tony’s company kept knocking it back.

The third was that it was named ‘Hulk’, who the fuck names a book ‘Hulk’, what does that even mean?

The fourth as that he had sent the publication to ten companies. Ten. Just to see if it was good enough?

And the fifth was that Bruce had recognised him, at a quarter to midnight, in a poorly lit coffee shop, when Tony had his head down and his brain fogged with thoughts. So this Banner kid would have to know his face at least fairly well for him to deduce who Tony was like that.

The only conclusion that Tony could come to was that Bruce was pulling his leg, he must have been. It took the whole drive home for Tony to get to this conclusion (well it didn’t, it was the first thing he thought of, but it took the whole ride home for him to decide that was the only possible conclusion), and after inviting Happy to stay over, listening to the decline and wishing him a safe trip home and restful night instead – Tony practically ran to his home office and pulled up his computer.

He had to know, for sure.

“Computer,” he spoke aloud, activating the voice command, “Search all Stark Publishing files for keyword ‘Hulk’.”

Tony waited for the voice command – an inbuilt Irish accent called ‘Friday’ which Tony found amusing and immediately decided he would have as his voice activation program – to assure him that it was searching before he stood to make a cup of tea, intending to finish this one.

“Searching all files,” she calmly informed, and Tony nodded, standing. This would probably take a while.

The kettle was just about to boil when Friday called back out to him, “No results found with keyword ‘Hulk’.”

Tony sighed, yelling back to her, just as the kettle starting screeching at him, light flicking off to signify its completed boiling.

“Search all Stark Publishing files for keywords ‘Bruce Banner’.”

He let Friday do some thinking, wondered distantly to himself if he was giving her too much personality in his head, and poured his cup of tea, stirring idly as he waited for it to cool down or for Friday to respond, whichever came first.

“Three files match keywords ‘Bruce Banner’,” Friday informed him, and maybe Tony was imagining it, but she sounded almost as contented as Tony felt, almost like she was proud of herself.

“Thank you, Friday,” he praised, even though he knew that the computer system would not understand the concept of manners. He took his mug of tea – his favourite mug, the matte black one – and sat in front of the computer, sighing and sipping as he skimmed over the results.

All three were consultation files, meaning that while ‘Hulk’ hadn’t been put on file, Bruce Banner had arranged and attended three meetings with one of their workers. Thaddeus Ross, specifically.

Tony frowned and pulled up his email inbox, finding his contact for Mr. Ross and sending a very brief, _“It’s come to my understanding that a manuscript has been sent to you three times and has been pushed back continuously. Come to my office tomorrow.”_

Well, that was that. Now what?

Tony let his head roll back against the top of the chair. He shouldn’t. But he was curious.

“Search internet for ‘Bruce Banner’.”

He waited for the page to load, then let his jaw drop when he saw that Bruce had a Wikipedia page. It was no doubt a very short one but that didn’t change the fact that he had a Wikipedia page.

Friday was programmed to immediately read the brief description his pop-up Wiki gave, and that she did, letting Tony scan over his date of birth, lack of children and ex-spouse while she did so.

“Doctor Robert Bruce Banner is a former military scientist most commonly known for his participation in The August Experiment.”

Tony’s eyes widened. _Bruce was who in the how in the what now?_

He read over the page, just to make sure Friday wasn’t bugging out, and it did in fact say that Banner had been involved in The August Experiment.

“Shit,” Tony cursed out loud, clicking on the full Wikipedia page. He knew about The August Experiment, an unfortunate dabbling in using acute radiation for weapons that had backfired at the last minute, causing devastation and death and seriously injuring most of the people involved. Tony skim-read in horror, discovering just how involved Bruce was, as in, he was the guy who came up with the whole thing and he was brains behind all of the science. He was also the guy holding the gun when it blew up.

There was a whole sub-section on his injuries and illness sustained from the accident, but Tony couldn’t stomach reading it. He knew Bruce wasn’t dead, obviously, but he remembers when the accident happened about six years ago. Even though Bruce survived, five people in total had not. Two had been in the line of fire and died instantly, three had passed away slowly over the next three years due to radiation poisoning. The whole section of that company had been completely shut down, and no one bothered with radiation experiments for a while.

The page informed him that after leaving the military and science altogether, Banner (who had, by the way, received a scholarship from Harvard, where he continued to get his Bachelor, Masters and Doctorate) was now, according to his Twitter, attempting to get into novel writing instead. Apparently he has received great criticism for this decision, some bullshit about his brains not being put to appropriate use which Tony thought was a pile of crap, because good writing takes the best minds, all specialized to wordsmithing and poetic phrasing. If Bruce was as good as he said, he was an all-rounder on smarts and should put all his talent to good use, in Tony’s personal opinion.

And okay, Tony took back all he said about not caring, because he could read up on Bruce Banner all day and night, trying to get to the bottom of this ‘to publish or not publish’ mystery. And he did, in a way. He remembers clicking on Bruce’s Twitter and getting down to a year ago, and then suddenly his alarm was going off and the sun was rising.

He had slept? For _six hours_ , no less?

Okay.

Tony took every minute of sleep as a bonus, and felt contented and almost proud of himself as he counted how many hours he had managed to rest for. He needed to be at work in an hour, and he wasn’t dragging his feet for the first time in a while, so that was good.

He couldn’t exactly figure out what had made him fall asleep, especially not with mental stimulation, frustration, caffeine and having his face all up close to LED screens; but he assumed it was just over-exhaustion that made him pass out.

 

Ross was waiting in his office when he got there.

“Steve?” Tony called out, looking right at Ross as he dropped his bag. “Did you forget to tell me that Ross is in my office?”

“Ross is in your office!” Steve called out from wherever he was (he wasn’t at his desk in the room that opens into Tony’s, that was for sure), and Tony rolled his eyes. Time to be the boss of this company.

“Good morning, Thaddeus,” he grinned, flashing his teeth. Tony reserved a special place in his heart for hating Ross. He knew Steve hated Ross with a passion, and refused to even acknowledge that the man was on their working staff, so Tony was completely unsurprised that he hadn’t told him about Ross.

“Mister Stark,” Ross made a face that looked like it was trying to be a smile, but failed somewhere along the line, like he had never been taught to smile. Plausible. “You asked to see me?”

“That,” Tony moved around his desk to sit, “I did.”

He waved a hand at the empty seat across from his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Steve walked in at that moment, putting Tony’s coffee down on his desk, refusing to say a word and pointedly not even looking at Ross. Tony never asked why they hated each other so much, but to be honest, he didn’t care and wasn’t going to look into it. And it wasn’t a Bruce Banner ‘didn’t care’, he actually didn’t care.

Ross didn’t hide the roll of his eyes at Steve.

“Talkative,” he commented, scoffing. Tony felt like rolling his eyes, too (so he did) and also like spilling his coffee on Ross’s lap just because he could (but he didn’t).

“You know who else is talkative?” Tony began, putting a hand around his coffee but not quite drinking it yet. “Bruce Banner. Talkative enough to have three consultations but not have his work even put on file for editing?”

Ross pulled a face and slumped down into his seat. “Tony, this happens all the time. An awful piece of work, and the hot-shot writer’s just not willing to come to terms with the fact that they can’t write.”

Tony smiled. “See, I know that. I’m not the CEO because I’m pretty, despite popular belief. I heard, actually, that his writing is pretty alright. I mean, if ‘pretty alright’ means that _nine_ other companies _want_ to publish him. Unless I mean ‘brilliant’.”

Ross looked uncomfortable and Tony was loving it. He raised his voice so he could be heard in the room over.

“Steve? The right word for a piece that nine separate companies want to publish is ‘brilliant’, right?”

“Last time I checked, that was pretty much the definition,” Steve called back. Tony loved him. He should buy him flowers or something.

Tony raised an eyebrow at Ross. His face was giving it away. Bruce hadn’t been pulling Tony’s leg, Ross knew that Bruce had good work, and that he had been lying.

“Do you have the ‘Hulk’ manuscript?” Tony asked. Ross shook his head.

“No.”

“Steve?” Tony called out, waiting for the blonde to appear at the doorway before he continued. “Can you call Happy and ask him to search through Ross’s desk for a manuscript titled ‘Hulk’, or anything to do with Bruce Banner?”

Ross went white, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Tony just smiled. He didn’t want to admit how much joy this brought him. Steve smiled where he stood and nodded, going out the door, muttering ‘gladly’ under his breath but Tony heard him. Ross was old, so Tony wasn’t sure if he did too.

They both waited in dead silence for a whole six minutes for Steve to return with Happy, who was holding not one but two copies of ‘Hulk’, which Tony discovered was actually in capitals, so it was actually ‘HULK’, but whatever.

“What was that you were lying?” Tony smiled, gladly taking the thick bundles of paper from his security. Happy looked a little pleased too, albeit confused. Tony didn’t have the heart to order him or Steve out of the room for this.

“If I read the first page of this, and agree that it’s actually decent enough to at least be edited,” Tony slapped the copies against his hand, tossing one to the desk and keeping the other. “Well. Let’s just see.”

He flipped open the cover and began reading, concentrating on the words while Happy stood at the door and Steve lingered in the juncture between his and Tony’s offices.

Tony finished the first page easily, wanting to read more already, which said enough in itself.

“Mister Ross,” he put the piece down softly. “I’m sorry. You are no longer welcome here in this building. You’re officially fired from Stark Publishing.”

“That’s bullshit,” Ross stood, Steve and Happy both immediately moving towards him, just one step but enough to be prepared should Ross start something. “What am I being fired for, my opinions? I didn’t like it, that’s enough to get me kicked out?”

“No, you’re being fired for repeatedly knocking back a publication on what we can assume are purely personal reasons, not the publication itself, and for additionally lying to the CEO about said publications and your possession of them,” Tony pointed to the door. “Happy will escort you out and find you a box for your personal items. If you come back to the building without permission you will be asked to leave. Steve you can document this, right?”

Steve nodded. “I sign everything else anyway.”

Ross looked murderous, but said nothing as Happy led him out of the room. Tony watched him leave for a contented moment, before turning to Steve again.

“Hey, beefcake, do you reckon you could find Bruce Banner’s consultation files and put me on the phone with him?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I think you can manage that yourself. I’m going to process Ross’s resignation.”

 

Tony did manage it himself. He only made it to a lovely woman named Betty, and he joked with himself from the alliteration that she was probably his sister or something. He hoped best friend. Betty’s Bruce Banner’s best buddy. Tony wanted to say it five times fast, but Steve would probably admit him to an institution.

Bruce Banner’s best buddy Betty was unfortunately unable to put him through to Bruce himself, and instead Tony organised with her for Bruce to meet him personally. That afternoon. In fact, Tony had been able to hear them talking about it, hearing Betty cover the phone and yell out if Bruce was free for a meeting that afternoon.

Tony had thanked her, being as charming and chivalrous as he could, and proceeded to work through his boring papers for the rest of the day. He also may or may not have picked up the phone to listen in to Steve’s conversations for five minutes when he was really sick of seeing his own name in print. He put the phone down as soon as he heard ‘Hiya, Stevie’ come through, yelling at his assistant through the door that this was work time not play time.

Then he went back to signing papers and getting sick of his own name again.

 

It was a few minutes later that he heard a knock on his office door, head raising to find Darcy standing by Bruce. All the details were familiar from last night, and Tony smiled in recognition.

“Sorry for interrupting, Mister Stark,” Darcy stepped back, but she was visibly relieved that Tony wasn’t mad or confused at Bruce’s appearance. “I found him wandering and he said he was here to see you?”

“Yeah, we have an appointment,” Tony nodded, standing up to greet Bruce properly. “Thank you, Ms Lewis.”

Darcy smiled, nodded, and left. Tony didn’t miss her casually sticking a snowflake sticker on his door, and let his smile drop while she smirked and hurried off. Tony sneered at the snowflake and closed the door, ushering Bruce into the room.

He breathed. Who cares about the snowflake, Tony had a meeting.

“Okay, so maybe I care more than I thought I did,” he opened, turning to Bruce with a grin, holding out his hand to shake. “Tony Stark.”

There was a breath of silence before Bruce’s voice came back to him, hand cautiously coming to take Tony’s.

“Bruce Banner,” Bruce was smiling – no, _smirking_. “So, you care about my work?”

“Well, I may or may not have just fired one of my oldest workers based on the first page of ‘Hulk’.”

Bruce spluttered as Tony navigated around his desk and gestured for them both to take a seat.

“I’m sorry- _what?_ ” Bruce fell into the chair. Tony chuckled and sat across from him, hands folding.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised, please. Unless it turns out someone else wrote the first page and I read the rest of this only to discover it really is awful and I have to make a humiliating apology,” it looked like Bruce was going to say something, but Tony’s mouth kept moving. “Actually, Ross was kind of an asshole, I’m not bringing him back no matter how this book turns out.”

Bruce was making aborted stutters, words unable to actually form.

“So,” Tony grunted as he shifted in his seat. “Banner. I would like to read your piece, personally, and consult with you to discuss editing and publication.”

Tony heard shuffling in the other room as Steve must have moved suddenly, his assistant appearing at the door in a frazzled mess but not saying a word. He was listening to the conversation, then.

“You’re going to read it?”

“Personally.”

“You?”

“That is what personally means,” Tony was above sending Steve a pointed look. Okay, no he wasn’t.

“But…” Bruce looked at his hands. “You’re the boss, don’t you have a company to run?”

“Oh, no, he’s the boss,” Tony pointed to Steve, who was still staring in amazement and also mild horror, “I just sign everything.”

Steve’s expression didn’t change, but his mouth managed to move enough to retort, “Actually, I sign all those things for you.”

Tony made a gesture like he was taken aback, but his face read as completely unsurprised, throwing his hands Steve’s way.

“See?”

Bruce was still sitting in his seat, blinking but unmoving. Tony flashed him a grin and held out a hand.

“If you’ll accept, we would love to publish your book, Doctor Banner,” he smiled. Bruce’s awestruck expression faltered for a moment.

“I never told you I was a doctor,” he said, quietly. Tony shrugged, seeing the line that should not be crossed and dancing along it but keeping away from the edge as best he can.

“I do my research.”

There were a few more polite exchanges, a goodbye and a well-wish from Steve, who promptly began his berating the second the door was closed.

But Tony, to be perfectly honest, could not find it within himself to care.

 

Tony cried while he read the manuscript.

Like, bawled.

Like, Tony Stark hadn’t cried since the night Pepper left and that was mid panic attack anyway, and all the tears had been saved up for this moment.

It begins soft and slow, and nice introduction to a Dr Jack Kirby, a biologist and single father of one daughter, Katie. He lives his life in as much peace as you can with a nine year old daughter. Until a lab accident goes horribly wrong, a test of hormones and aggression, and when Jack is unfortunately doused in the chemicals, he transforms from a normal man to a horrific Hyde-side-of-Jekyll type monster: namely, ‘the Hulk’. A massive, green, rage-monster that destroys everything in sight.

The concept itself is enough for Tony to sigh, but the way it’s written is what makes Tony’s heart _hurt_.

He cries so hard when the Hulk accidentally kills his own daughter, and suffers through a whole chapter devoted purely to the immense guilt he feels when he transforms back to Dr Kirby, but it’s written in such a way that Tony doesn’t feel bored or like it’s repetitive or dragging, he feels Jack’s guilt with him.

Tony has to throw the book away when one of the later chapters ends on Jack putting a bullet in his own mouth and pulling the trigger, before reminding himself that there were still four chapters – long chapters – left to go, so obviously Jack’s not going to die. Or at least, if he does, there’s a wrap up to be read.

And, true to his logic, there’s no suicide, the Hulk spitting out the bullet on the first line of the next chapter.

The book ends with Jack deciding to attempt at controlling his transformations, and using his destructive powers for good, wanting to redeem himself for the damage caused.

Tony took a whole fifteen minutes to himself to cry out the rest of his feelings, then pull himself back together. So maybe he shouldn’t have read the whole thing in one go, fuelled by caffeine and a lack of self-control regarding good plots.

He found nothing wrong with the book. He marked two points in the whole piece with his pen, and they were typos. One missing apostrophe, the other an accidentally omitted second ‘o’ in ‘too’. Not only did he not find anything wrong, but Tony loved it. He love the way Bruce wrote, how he captured his audience so easily, how he manipulated their thoughts and feelings so well. It was phenomenal, unbelievable.

He looked at the time. Seven am. Appropriate time to call someone.

 

A team is put together to publish Bruce’s work, as is done with every other author with their company. A cover is decided and discussed and re-decided, the font and size of the book, hard and paper cover, size of print, everything is gone over. Bruce is signed onto the company in a series of contracts, and Tony slides over the one about his involvement with any possible media adaptations before someone can forget it. Because he just has this feeling Bruce is going to need it, anyway, even if Bruce himself doesn’t think it’s necessary.

And, as quickly as printing like this takes, ‘Hulk’ is published to Stark Publishing.

Tony handed Bruce the first copy himself, smiling, and whispering, “Merry Christmas” as he did so.

Steve was probably going to admit him to an institution.

 

Tony was expected, by himself and everyone around him, to drop contact with Banner after the publication went through.

Only he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> [i’m from melbourne, and may i just say: fuck starbucks, support your local coffee shops.]
> 
> [my sister told me to add in the actor references.]
> 
> [jack kirby was almost mark ruffalo.]


End file.
